


Where the memories have no name

by Evil_Keshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Keshi/pseuds/Evil_Keshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S.H.I.E.L.D. special agent Steve Rogers has been tracking down Hydra's assassin with his team for years, to no avail. But when the Winter Soldier practically turns up on his doorstep without any memory, all Steve can think of is offering him a place to stay. He already knows what Nat is going to say: "Rogers, you're so, so stupid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone ! I'm back with an AU that I've been thinking about for a while now, so here it comes... Tags and characters will be added as the story goes on. Many thanks to my sister for listening to me having feels about this AU and the Civil War trailer !
> 
> Title derived from U2's song "Where the streets have no name".

  


  


It is nine am sharp when Steve's alarm goes off and it takes him one full minute and all the courage in the world to lift a weak arm and fumble around blindly to stop the awful beeping sound, his head still buried into his pillow and his brain still drowsy. He is _not_ a morning person. Not even when it's already nine o'clock and he hasn't waken up so late in months and should therefore feel well-rested and ready for his first day off in weeks - why the fuck did he plan to wake up so _early_ , then ?

He doesn't remember anymore. Yesterday was a long day and an even longer night, so it is possible that he didn't think at all and just set up his alarm at a random hour. Typical. He feels tempted to just go back to sleep and wake up again in a few hours but then, he remembers that today is one of the rare days he might actually do something productive for himself and not for work so maybe, just maybe, getting out of bed now could be worth it: he could appreciate at least one day every few months where he can pretend that he is not a SHIELD special agent. Just a normal day that he won't spend running after criminals and protecting state secrets or, let's say, taking ridiculous risks that might put his life in danger just for the sake of doing his job right - but let's be honest here, he loves his job.

Steve tries to muffle a yawn behind his hand as he rolls around and nearly falls off the bed, managing just in time to plant his feet flat on the floor of his bedroom to stand up. He stretches his arms above his head, the old and worn out t-shirt he sleeps in rising a little and revealing the hard planes of his abs; he yawns again as he heads to the bathroom, staggering a little on his way and nearly hitting his toes in the doorframe. His usual morning routine would consist of a run around Brooklyn, a shower and a quick breakfast that he would pay no attention to as he checks his emails before going to work. Today though, he knows that he won't even turn on his laptop: he doesn't want to hear about SHIELD and the potential news regarding cases they work on can wait; most of all, he doesn't have the slightest desire to read anything in his emails that might happen to be related to Hydra. Nope, not today.

Hydra is a criminal organisation like many others SHIELD aims to dismantle but, unlike the others, Hydra is also the only one that has managed to remain active for more than ten years, even though SHIELD has been tracking it down for the exact same time. It gives headaches to everyone, the stern and brooding Director Nick Fury included (which states the seriousness of this case) and it is so big that they have several teams, each working on a specific and detailed point of the Hydra problem. Compartmentalisation, Fury says. Bullshit, Steve usually adds.

Steve, Natasha and Sam are supposed to chase down Hydra's best assassin and... Well, this is not going as planned. The man's first kills go back to ten years ago, as soon as Hydra appeared on SHIELD radars; he is fast and strong, lethal no matter what kind of weapon he has (or doesn't have) in hand and, oddly enough, he has a metal arm. No one has ever seen his face, for he wears a mask, or if someone ever has, then they aren't there anymore to talk about it. Hydra's assassin is like a ghost, quick to kill and even quicker to vanish afterwards; he uses Soviet bullets that tell nothing even to SHIELD best ballistics experts and his identity is only known by his codename: the Winter Soldier. Dead ends all around.

Steve knows something else about him though, a detail that he hasn't told anyone about yet because truthfully, he doesn't think that it would be of any interest at all: the Winter Soldier has blue eyes. He knows that from that one time they got face to face and the assassin shot him in the thigh, two years ago. Up to this day, this is the only proof he has of the guy's existence: a scar in the flesh of his right leg and a vivid image of two piercing blue eyes. Steve remembers thinking that they were too beautiful to belong to an assassin - and that was the exact time he was shot.

So no, he doesn't want to hear about SHIELD today, not on his day off. Instead, he splashes some lukewarm water on his face and runs his wet hands through his blond hair, using his fingers as a comb to tame it a little so that it will not look like a wild nest. Steve slowly peels off his t-shirt and his boxer briefs to change into a clean cotton tank top and his favourite pair of shorts - because he feels so comfortable in them and not because it shows off his (admittedly great) ass, contrarily to Natasha's beliefs - and then he's out, slipping his phone and his keys in his pocket as he skips down the stairs of his apartment complex and breathes the crisp air of this sunny morning.

This is going to be a good day.

  


  


This is so not a good day, Steve thinks twenty-five minutes later as he runs, hurrying on his way back to his apartment with his arms raised protectively above his head, trying to shield himself from the heavy rain falling from the crying sky. It started in a nice way though: he had seen a squirrel in the park, he was in a good mood and about to get a coffee and maybe a muffin or something of the like in one of the many cafés on his way back home, when the winds suddenly shifted and the rain began hitting the ground, droplets growing and turning into fat drops, rolling down his ruined hair and soaking his t-shirt.

Steve hisses when he walks straight into a puddle and water splashes around his bare calves. A quick glance up shows him that the sun won't magically reappear anytime soon, not with those clouds, so dark that they actually seem black, and he turns in the first narrow alley he lays his eyes on, seeking shelter. Luck seems to be with him on this one: restaurants backdoors align in front of him and he notices a small porch which he manages to hide his big self under, careful not to hit his head into an old sign that reads _At Willy's_.

He startles when lightning suddenly cracks the grey sky open and thunder echoes all around a few seconds later, dark clouds heavy with electricity gathering above the city.

"Shit," he mumbles when he remembers that he slept with the window open last night and didn't close it that morning. He hopes that the rain won't get inside and ruin the floor, he doesn't feel like cleaning on his day-off so please, please, please...

The sound of metal clanging against something shakes him off his thoughts and he immediately turns around, eyes narrowing to try and see through the shadows of the alley and the droplets of rain what could possibly have made that noise. He squints and his stance gets defensive - shut up, it's a reflex, okay ? - before he relaxes slightly, amused by his own stupidity. This alley is totally empty, save for Steve himself, some dumpsters and old cardboard boxes lying around, so it's probably just a half-drowned cat that tripped on garbage and cans as it tried to hide somewhere. As simple as that, right ?

And yet... And yet, Steve leaves the safety of the porch and takes a few careful steps towards the back of the alley, driven by his curiosity and something else that he can't quite explain. Instinct ?

"Come on, Stevie," he tells himself aloud as he walks around one of the dumpsters. "It's one more poor stray cat you'll end up taking back home and Natasha is going to..."

He never finishes his sentence. Because this isn't a cat he is staring at, but a man crouching down and clad in an old sweater with a hood that hides his hair and most of his face, but the sleeves aren't long enough to cover metal fingers that lightning makes shine faintly in the shadow of the street. The man is barefoot and Steve's insides churn uncomfortably when he notices the red stains on his feet. Blood.

"Hey..." he says, kneeling in front of the man as concern immediately kicks in. "Are you okay ? Do you need help ?"

The man remains silent but tenses slightly and Steve reaches to pull down the hood, worried that the stranger might suffer from a head injury and be unable to talk or about to faint, and he slowly reveals a pale face with a shadowy stubble and...

"What the... ?!" he blurts out in disbelief when blue eyes that he would recognise anywhere stare right back at him.

He takes a step back and the man moans in pain and clutches his head with his hands, curling on himself, while Steve quickly puts two and two together: tangled long hair, blue eyes, metal that certainly doesn't stop at the wrist but probably goes all the way up to the shoulder... This is no random man he is facing but the _Winter Soldier_. He knows it is him, the eyes... These eyes have haunted his dreams and his nightmares alike, he can't be mistaken.

"Special agent Rogers, don't move !" he warns, summoning his most authoritative voice and already fumbling for his phone with one hand, the other raised defensively in front of him.

If only he had his gun or, hell, even a taser to make sure that he can take the guy down if he tries anything funny... But the man only stares at him in fear, close to outright panic, and Steve forgets all about calling SHIELD for backup when the man stammers:

"P... Please ! Don't... don't hurt me, I... I... I will give back the clothes, I promise ! I didn't mean to steal them but I..."

"What ?" Steve asks, confused.

"What ?" the man squeaks out, leaning as further away from Steve as he can, which makes him look like he might be trying to blend with the wall of the building.

And there might be a problem there: when did the Winter Soldier ever squeak ? Quiver in fear ? Didn't attack as soon as he felt threatened or simply got a visual on his target ? Could it be possible that Steve has made a mistake, read too much into insignificant details and just considered a homeless guy, maybe a veteran, the most dangerous assassin ever ? There is only one way to be sure.

"Take off the sweater," he says sternly.

"What ?" the blue-eyed male asks. "No !"

"Take it off !" Steve repeats. "Now !"

The other eventually obeys and Steve frowns as he watches him grab the hem of the sweater with shaking hands - he can't be _that_ scared of him, right ? He doesn't even have a gun ! - and takes it off, hesitantly laying it on the dirty pavement of the alley. He then glances up at Steve, who motions him to stand up slowly.

He does, carefully so, keeping both hands where Steve can see them, and there it is. A red star painted on the metal of his arm. It's him, it's the Winter Soldier. The metal goes up to the shoulder, as he thought. Only, he's never seen anything beyond it, he's never seen the pattern of scars spreading on the pale skin under the clothes, he never imagined... And now he sees and he notices faded bruises and half-healed cuts on the man's body, his stomach and his ribs, and he suddenly looks so small without the heavy gears he was wearing when Steve met the Winter Soldier two years prior, and so _fragile_.

"What the hell happened to you ?" he asks, staring as droplets of rain roll down the man's shivering body.

"I don't know," the other replies softly, hesitantly, and he slowly lowers his hands to cover his chest self-consciously, flesh fingers clutching at his metal shoulder. "I... I don't remember anything. I woke up in that... basement a few days ago. Alone. Naked. I... I... I only remembered my name."

He swallows thickly, beautiful blue eyes locking with Steve's, so honest in their helplessness and despair.

"Do you know me ?" the man asks after a beat, hints of hope lacing his voice.

It takes Steve a while to answer that. What should he say ? He doesn't know; that man is the Winter Soldier, he can't be anyone else, but... That behaviour ? The fear ? It doesn't fit. Could it be that he says the truth ? That he doesn't remember anything ? How convenient. Maybe this a trick, a plan to lull his vigilance and kill him once he turns his back on him ? Well, he won't.

"What's your name ?" Steve asks instead of answering.

"James... Barnes," the Winter Soldier whispers hesitantly, as though he was trying out the name, tasting the way the syllables roll off his tongue. "I think people call me Bucky though."

Bucky. That... That is a name that fits those beautiful eyes.

"Okay..." Steve says, taking a deep breath.

He is about to make a big, big mistake. Something stupid, really, and Sam and Nat will kick his ass and they would be right to. They've always told him that he gives too much credit to people, always sees the best in them, no matter how many layers of darkness they have inside them. They say it is his biggest flaw but he can live with that. Could be worse.

"I assume you have nowhere to go ?" he asks.

The Winter Soldier, _Bucky_ , shakes his head and says so quietly that Steve almost misses the soft murmur:

"If I have, then I don't remember it."

"Alright," Steve decides, slipping his fingers through his wet hair in a half-nervous and half-resigned gesture. "Come with me."

"Where ?" Bucky asks, looking scared all over again.

"My place," he answers calmly, even though every cell in his brain is screaming at him not to do this. "I can give you some clothes and we'll get some food in you. You look like you need it."

And that's true, he does. Bucky's cheeks are hollow and pale, sickly so, and something warm would probably do him some good. Steve holds back an insane laugh: is he seriously considering having lunch in his kitchen with Hydra's number one assassin ? If Fury knew, he'd have a heart attack.

He's doing this to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier, he tells himself. If it is a trick, then two can play this game and Steve has no qualms pretending to believe that Bucky is amnesiac and to take him down when he reveals his true face. Actually, this might be the only way to ever catch the Winter Soldier, if Bucky doesn't kill him first... And it isn't any different from undercover missions he has already been assigned, except that this time, the Director has no say in this. He is taking risks, he is aware. Not only for his own safety but also for his career; if anyone heard that he has taken the Soldier home and hasn't turned him in, he would be considered a traitor, it wouldn't matter what his intentions were. And if Bucky said the truth, if he really doesn't remember anything... Well, this is a problem that he doesn't want to think about now. They will cross that bridge when they get to it.

"Are you a cop ?" Bucky asks in worry all of a sudden. "Agent Rogers, right ?"

"I... No, I'm not a cop," Steve answers, bending down to pick up the sweater without adverting his eyes from the Winter Soldier's silhouette. "My name's Steve Rogers, I work for SHIELD, a governmental organisation. But no, not a cop."

If there's one thing Steve had always loathed, ever since he was a kid, it's lying. So he doesn't. Either Bucky is really amnesiac and believes him, or he isn't and then, he knows everything about Steve anyway. Lying right now would mean that he doesn't trust the Soldier, which is true but would also betray him.

"Oh," Bucky mutters, "Okay."

"Worried about those clothes you stole ?" Steve asks lightly, handing him the sweater. "Or did you do something to piss off the cops ?"

"I don't know," Bucky answers, taking the hoodie to quickly put it on, the tension in the line of his shoulders fading as soon as he is clothed again.

Bucky shudders under the cold rain pouring down and he stuffs both of his hands in the front pockets of his sweater, glancing in worry at the angry sky. Steve would suggest that they make a run to his apartment in hopes to get in a warm place faster but the other man is still barefoot and he doesn't think that Bucky would be able to follow, even though they aren't too far anymore.

"Can you walk like this ?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

They come out of the alley, Steve sort of leading the way but still making sure that the Winter Soldier never gets fully behind him, watching him from the corner of his eye. To be honest, he doesn't think that he would find the strength in him to try anything against Steve: Bucky can walk, sure, but his gait doesn't look that confident, he rather seems like he's about to fall on his knees from exhaustion, and they have to take short breaks from time to time so that he can catch his breath.

"When was the last time you ate ?" Steve asks after a little while.

"When I woke up..." Bucky answers absently, focusing on walking in a line as straight as possible. "There was bread in the basement, and water. I think... It was three or four days ago, I can't remember."

Steve's eyes widen in shock. Three or four days ago ?! And he hasn't eaten anything else since ? Ah, no wonder he looks so pale and thin, Steve doesn't even understand how he hasn't passed out yet. Is he supposed to take him to the hospital ? Hell no, questions would certainly arise about his metal arm and Steve doesn't think he would be able to hide Bucky from Fury any longer.

That would be a disaster. Everything in him screams to arrest Bucky and give him to SHIELD and yet, here he is, standing next to one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, without the slightest intent to turn him in - well, as long as Bucky doesn't go rogue on him that is. He has to find out what happened to the Winter Soldier first though... Because unless he possesses amazing acting skills, Bucky can't be him - not anymore. The man looks so frail, breakable, as he jumps slightly every time lightning lights up the dark sky. And Steve is not sure that he has the right nor that it is his duty to turn in someone who might have done terrible things but doesn't have the tiniest hint of remembrance.

When they arrive in front of his apartment complex, Bucky looks around nervously and Steve can't quite decide what to make of it: in a way, he believes it to be normal since Bucky doesn't know him at all and he can imagine the thoughts going through his mind right now. What if Steve is a psychopath ? Or a dangerous assassin ? (Which would be funny, considering.) But what if it is actually the Winter Soldier looking around to make sure that nobody is hiding in their close vicinity so that he can kill him without being disturbed ?

Steve imperceptibly shakes his head, mentally calling himself a paranoid idiot: if the Soldier had wanted to murder him, he would have done so back in the alley, where it would have been much more discreet. So he smiles reassuringly and gestures Bucky to walk in as he holds the door open for him.

"My apartment is on the third floor," Steve tells him helpfully as they take the stairs side by side.

Bucky nods, eyes cast down to watch his steps and not trip over his own feet, and his skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time they make it to Steve's front door. The man leans his back against the wall and Steve's worry reaches new peaks as he witnesses his pitiful state.

He hurriedly opens the door and Bucky follows quietly, glancing around and suddenly stopping on the threshold.

"What ?" Steve asks as he calmly pretends to untie his shoelaces but readies himself to run after Bucky, unsure of the reason for his awkward stop.

"I..." he starts hesitantly. "My feet. I'll smear blood all over your place."

Steve nearly laughs at that, flooded with relief, and he takes off his shoes.

"Well, what about a warm shower ?" he asks. "I'll clean up while you're in the bathroom, don't worry about it."

Bucky seems hesitant still. And Steve would be at a total loss for words to explain why he does it, but he extends his right hand and smiles softly, a silent and supportive gesture to a scared and lost assassin, with less blood on his feet than he has on his hands, hair tangled and eyes a blue so pure it makes something break in Steve's heart. He has officially turned insane.

His jaw almost drops on the floor when Bucky slowly, carefully reaches out with his right hand to touch Steve's fingers and hold onto them, keeping his left one hidden in his pocket, and fully steps inside the apartment.

"A shower sounds good," Bucky says shyly, not daring to meet Steve's gentle gaze as he slowly lets go of his hand. "Thank you."

His sincerity shows in his big eyes and Steve doesn't know what to say, feeling like his world has been turned upside down: Hydra's assassin just thanked him. Timidly.

"Okay," he says, taking a deep breath. "Follow me."

Bucky obediently does, tiptoeing behind Steve toward the bathroom in an attempt not to bleed all over the floor but they are both soaked anyway and they leave droplets of rain in their wake.

"Here you go," Steve says as he opens the door to the bathroom. "The towels are in this closet, you can use as many as you want... I'll get some clothes ready for you while you shower. Will you be alright ?"

Bucky nods wordlessly and Steve satisfies himself with this silent answer, walking out and closing the door to give the young man the intimacy he probably needs, leaving him alone. He waits in front of the bathroom for a few minutes, listening to the muffled shuffling inside to make sure that Bucky isn't trying to escape by the window or something, and he lets out a breath of relief when he hears the sound of running water.

Seconds later, he finds himself in his bedroom, quickly closing the window that he forgot to shut when he left his apartment, thankful that the rain didn't get inside and soaked his floor. He then heads for his wardrobe and easily finds the Beretta 92 he keeps in its holster, next to his clothes, taking it gingerly. He doesn't plan on using it (or rather, _hopes_ he won't be forced to) but he can't leave it carelessly in his wardrobe: he refuses to provide the Winter Soldier with a weapon - not that he really needs one to hurt someone but still, Steve doesn't intend to push his luck - and he doesn't want to scare Bucky either, just in case his amnesia happens to be true and not a tricky excuse. 

He helplessly looks around his bedroom, frowning as he considers several possible hiding places for his gun so that Bucky won't see it but mindful of the fact that he must have an easy access to it. You never know what can happen, especially with a potentially amnesiac assassin. Eventually, Steve makes up his mind and opts for the couch, hiding his Beretta between the pillows: he has a decent knowledge enough of the host etiquette, whatever Natasha might say about his social life, so of course he is going to leave his bed for Bucky and sleep on the couch himself. And, let's be honest, if he had to choose the right time to kill someone, it would probably be during the night while said target is dozing off if not completely asleep... So, the gun goes between the pillows.

He really, really hopes that he won't have to use it.

  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions on this story, such positive feedback made me really happy ! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well ;)
> 
> Warning for a panic attack at some point of this chapter.

  


Steve is on his knees, busy wiping the droplets of rain staining the floor of his apartment when he hears the door of the bathroom open. He stands up, discarding his mop in a corner of the hall while making a mental note to take care of it later, and he carefully makes his way to the bathroom, stomping his feet a bit more than absolutely necessary so that Bucky will hear him coming and won't be scared.

"So," he calls as he nears the door, "how does it feel to..."

Steve stops dead in his tracks when he sees Bucky: the shower was helpful, that much he can tell, because the young man suddenly looks like another person. He's clean, for starters, and the knots in his hair have disappeared, leaving behind wet silky strands, and his goddamn eyes are so blue and staring at him with such intensity that Steve momentarily forgets what he meant to say. Until he realises that Bucky is still naked, save for a towel wrapped around his hips, and he holds onto the sweater he was wearing earlier, bending his right wrist at an odd angle to keep the hoodie pressed against his chest. Mostly his left side, Steve notices with a little frown, and he suddenly wonders whether Bucky doesn't want to scare him by exposing his metal limb or doesn't want to see it _himself_.

"You... I think you promised me clothes ?" he says hesitantly when Steve remains silent.

"Oh, right !" the blond exclaims, shaking himself off his thoughts. "In the bedroom."

He doesn't exactly enjoin Bucky to follow him but he smiles in an open invitation and the young man hesitates for a few seconds before he eventually treads in his footsteps, clutching onto the sweater even more tightly and keeping some distance between the two of them. It takes Steve little to no time to find clothes that might fit Bucky, who's almost as tall as he is himself and in the end, he presents him with clean boxers, a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. It's not much but he assumes that Bucky won't be in the mood to walk around Brooklyn today, not after days of wandering alone and lost, so he might as well relax a little and make himself as comfortable as possible, which means... Sweatpants.

"Thanks." Bucky whispers as he closes the fingers of his right hand around the bundle of clothes, the sweater forgotten across his left shoulder.

He eyes the t-shirt and flinches, almost imperceptibly but not enough for Steve not to notice.

"What's wrong ?" he asks curiously.

"I... It's just..." Bucky trails off and looks up, blue eyes meeting his, and Steve is not sure anymore whether he's contemplating an ocean or the abysses.

Bucky looks so scared behind the dark curtain of his hair that it would erase any doubts Steve might still have about his identity. He's by no means a professional when it comes to memory loss but he trusts his guts, always has, and right now they tell him that no assassin is standing in front of him, just a young man, confused and exhausted.

"Hey..." he says gently, taking a step forward with his hands raised in a placating way. "It's okay, you can tell me. I won't hurt you. Talk to me, Bucky."

The use of his name seems to startle him a little and he actually looks around, checking to make sure that no one else is there and that Steve is addressing _him_. Dear Lord. Steve can't even fathom the idea of not remembering anything, his own name included. But what happened to the Winter Soldier to reduce him to a skittish and helpless man like Bucky ? Where does that name even come from, if he doesn't recall anything at all ?

There are way too many unknown parameters in this, Steve needs answers that will - hopefully - give him directives on the proper way to do things with Bucky. Because even if this Bucky looks innocent and harmless enough, Steve _must not_ forget that he used to be the Winter Soldier, probably not so long ago based on the date of the last kill SHIELD believes Hydra's assassin to be responsible for: it was three weeks ago. In the span of three weeks, barely one month, what kind of trauma has he been through to lose all his memories ? All memories but a name that Steve has never heard of before, because no one knew anything about the Winter Soldier except for his strength, ability and codename. What a mess.

"I... Do you have something with long sleeves ?" Bucky eventually asks, his voice bordering on hysterical as he keeps his gaze on Steve, the desperate edge in his words hitting him with full force. "I don't... I don't want..."

Bucky glances at his left arm and immediately closes his eyes, repressing a shudder. And yet, during the short second he looked at his own body, Steve noticed it. The mixed incomprehension and fear and _hate_ , and then it hits him: Bucky doesn't understand the presence of two different arms, one made of flesh and bones, the other shiny and cold. He doesn't _remember_.

Bucky... The Winter Soldier obviously wasn't born with a bionic arm. It came later, a cold piece of metal made as an extension of himself, a replacement for... What ? A limb lost in an accident ? During a mission ? Or... No. Steve can't go further on this path of thoughts: Hydra wouldn't have... taken his arm to render him stronger and more efficient, would they ?

Steve freezes, stuck on this disturbing idea, and that's when he sees that Bucky has taken a step back. And takes another one. And another, and another, until his back collides with the wall of the bedroom and he slumps down, curling on himself pretty much like he did back in the alley, when Steve approached him. His whole body shakes as he presses the clothes against his stomach, and he whispers:

"I'm sorry."

"Bucky, what... ?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeats like a broken record, his voice getting lower and lower as he shuts down and traps himself in his own brain.

"Hey, hey..." Steve says in alarm, quickly coming closer, reaching out to place a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder.

Big mistake.

"Don't touch me !" Bucky shrieks, eyes wild like those of a cornered animal as he pushes Steve away. "Don't touch me, p... please, don't..."

He chokes on a rattling sob and hides his face in the crook of his elbow, his breathing heavy and erratic, which has Steve kneeling next to him in worry, hoping to seem less threatening as he makes himself as small as possible and speaks calmly to try and reach Bucky through the haze of blazing panic surrounding his mind.

"Breathe, Bucky, breathe..." he says, fighting the urge to take the man in his arms to make him feel safer - touching him would probably worsen the situation. "I didn't want to scare you, I'm sorry. Breathe, please... I won't touch you, I won't hurt you, I promise. Breathe..."

Bucky shakes his head with such violence that he actually slams in the wall, which he doesn't notice or pay much attention to, because he breathes out:

"No... Don't touch me, I... I'm... I don't want to hurt you and I don't... remember... I can't touch you, I can't, please..."

Steve remains speechless for a few seconds as he processes the words. Bucky isn't afraid of him, he realises, but _for_ him. Afraid of himself and this arm he has no memory of, so foreign to his own body. Like it doesn't belong to him.

"Bucky..." he whispers hesitantly, not sure what to say because he doesn't know the right words to reassure someone, not in this kind of situation. "It will be okay... You... I know you won't hurt me, don't worry about that. It's okay... We'll figure out what happened to you, alright ?"

Steve realises as he says it that it is true: he is going to find out. He can't leave Bucky in the dark, the man has to know what made him the way he is now, he has to understand. Probably needs to. And Steve... Well, he is involved now, so he's in no matter what: he was never known for backing down easily so he won't start now, not when someone he kind of feels responsible for could use his help.

"Bucky..." he tries again, still softly but also more firmly now, hoping to get the young man's undivided attention.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan, since Bucky does look at him but appears obviously still too caught up in his mind and the ghosts of memories that must hide there to focus. A veil has covered his eyes, dulling the blue hues and blocking the light, locking him in a maelstrom of questions and hints of memories taunting him, floating at the surface of his mind but fleeing too fast for him to ever catch them. He looks lost and trapped, and Steve isn't sure that it's a good idea to interrupt whatever thought process is going on at the moment but his concern eventually gets the best of him and he says, clumsily so:

"Stay with me, okay ? Focus, Bucky, focus on me. You're safe here, you can rest and no one's going to hurt anyone, you aren't and I'm not either. We'll both be fine, alright ?"

When Bucky doesn't answer, Steve's worry increases all the most and he looks, stares into the blue eyes to find something, anything, a silent sign that might tell him the young man will come back to his senses, to him. All he sees is a shadow splitting Bucky in half, as though he was not the only one looking at Steve through those beautiful irises gleaming with doubts and uncertainty.

But then, Bucky blinks and he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings, of Steve kneeling beside him, hesitant to touch but eager to comfort, and from vaguely focused his gaze hardens, clarity slowly settling in.

"Bucky ?" Steve calls hesitantly.

"I... Leave me alone. Please ?"

The words don't sound like an order but more like a request, one that Bucky apparently really wants to be granted, and yet Steve can't bring himself to agree to this. Is this... wise ? Bucky might feel the need to be left alone, be given some space and time to compose himself and take a deep breath before facing Steve again, but the young man doesn't know whether it would do much good. Bucky obviously is in distress and although Steve doesn't want to assume anything about his mental state, he must admit that he isn't certain Bucky truly knows what's best for him right now.

"Please..." Bucky repeats with pleading eyes that finally help Steve to make his decision.

"Okay." he whispers, standing up and taking a few steps back. "I'll be in the living room so... Call me if you need anything, alright ?"

Bucky managed on his own in the bathroom, he reminds himself on his way out. After all, how risky is it to leave him alone in his bedroom for a few minutes ? The window is too narrow to serve as an escape and the gun can no longer be found in his wardrobe. Thus, Steve is going to give Bucky some time, some privacy to sort out his thoughts and then, he'll come back and make sure that the young man is still... Well, not alright, because he clearly isn't, but... Still there, for starters. And still safe. Both for himself and Steve. Steve tries to make as little noise as possible as he moves around the kitchen in order to fix themselves a late breakfast, slightly appalled to find out that his fridge severely lacks in fresh products he could make an actual meal of, all the while listening closely to every sound coming from the bedroom.

None comes, which is both reassuring and not, but Steve decides to wait a little while longer before bothering Bucky again. He closes his eyes when the question he has tried to ignore ever since he picked him up from the street arises in his mind: why is he doing this ? Hell, _what_ is he even doing, seriously ? Natasha would so call him an idiot, if she knew.

Because even if he's right, if Bucky doesn't remember his time as the Winter Soldier - whom he doubtlessly has been at some point - where is this leading to ? He can't... just keep him locked up in his apartment until SHIELD gives up on tracking down Hydra's assassin. But he can't let him leave either: not just because Bucky doesn't have any other place to go or because of his obvious confusion but also because... He would be noticed sooner or later: his metal arm isn't exactly easy to hide and SHIELD would hear from him at some point; it wouldn't take them long to put two and two together after that and... Steve can't let it happen. The Winter Soldier might deserve trial and prison but Bucky sure as hell doesn't. Fuck, he probably wouldn't even understand what the prosecution blames him for.

Steve is making toasts when the bedroom door opens slowly and he turns around as casually as he can, trying not to let any of his thoughts show on his face, even offering a tiny smile to Bucky as he steps into the living room. He got dressed once Steve left him alone: the sweatpants fit him like a charm, although they might be a bit loose around the waist seeing how thin Bucky's hips look; however, the young man didn't put on the t-shirt Steve gave him, choosing instead the warm knitted sweater that the blond last saw in his wardrobe. Maybe he should be offended that Bucky poked around and grabbed his clothes without his authorisation but Steve gets it, really: that sweater is his personal favourite, the one that brings him comfort like only a soft woollen garment he used to wear during his childhood can, the one that his mother knitted herself and that kind of grew with him along the years.

Of course Bucky doesn't know these details but Steve thinks he might understand his reasons nonetheless: this one has long sleeves, unlike the t-shirt he picked out. Bucky definitely has a problem with his arm.

"Hey." he forces himself to say, eyeing the young man from his still slightly wet hair to his bare toes poking out from under the hem of the sweatpants. "Are you okay ?"

Bucky nods silently as he takes a look around, his gaze eventually dropping onto the toasts. Steve can practically see him salivate, so he offers the plate and a smile, motioning Bucky toward the table.

"Dig in." he says. "You'll feel better."

A few minutes go by in silence as Bucky sits and then devours the toasts, looking up sheepishly when he's done, apparently on the verge of apologising for his Neanderthal ways. Steve doesn't want him to: if he recalls properly, the young man told him that he hasn't eaten in three or four days and his last meal, if you can even call it that way, consisted of bread. He must be starving.

Even so, Bucky turns down Steve's offer for something more nourishing than toast but asks softly, as if scared of the answer:

"Are you sure you don't know me ? You... kinda look familiar. I think."

Shit. Steve wills his face into an expression of genuine confusion, all the while panicking inside: does Bucky remember their first meeting ? That time when the Winter Soldier and he came face to face, when Steve seriously believed that he was going to die, only to end up being shot in the leg (small mercies, right ?)

What is he supposed to say to that ? One wrong answer and the game ends. Not in his favour, of course. Steve's almost hundred percent positive that he is doing the right thing by trusting Bucky when he affirms that he does not remember anything at all, but there is still a possibility that the Winter Soldier is playing with him, emitting doubts and judging Steve's reactions to prepare his next move, assessing the way he could use the agent and his acquaintances with SHIELD to Hydra's benefit. On the other hand, if Bucky truly has lost his memories, however that might have happened, he can't go around saying the truth, no matter how much it goes against every single one of his principles. That would be messing with Bucky's head even more: how do you tell someone that he used to be a bad person, a merciless and ruthless killer ? You don't.

Eventually, Steve settles for an apologetic smile and soft words:

"Sorry, Bucky, I don't think we've met before."

Which is actually not a total lie: Steve didn't meet Bucky but the Winter Soldier. He regrets his answer as soon as he sees the young man's face fall and a sorrowful glimmer flicker in his eyes.

"Oh." he whispers, disappointment written all over his gaunt face. "I thought... I was hoping you knew me so that you could explain why... why I am like this."

His blue eyes glance at his left arm, the one he seems so adamant not to see nor show, the one he had refused to use as he ate his toasts with his right hand only, and Steve's heart tightens a little in his chest at the sight.

"I'm sorry, Bucky." he repeats with genuine sadness, frustrated that he can't do much to help the young man: all he can think of involves a hug or a comforting touch but given Bucky's reaction when he tried to lay a hand on him earlier, he should probably forget about it. "You really don't remember anything ?"

"No." he snaps in reply, sharp and angry, and Steve can't tell whether the young man is mad at himself for forgetting or at him for asking in the first place.

Bucky's flesh fingers run through his damp half-long hair in a weak attempt to hide his disappointment and frustration but it doesn't fool Steve, who desperately tries to switch onto another topic so that his guest doesn't have to mull over dark thoughts. He can't find anything to say though and they both remain awkwardly silent until Bucky suddenly says:

"Thank you. For the clothes and the food. I... appreciate it."

He swiftly stands up, flinching as the chair scrapes the floor, and his next move is so painfully obvious and predictable that Steve blurts out:

"Where are you going ?"

Bucky halts and half-turns to Steve, hesitant like a wild animal that doesn't quite know where to go to reach safety.

"Away ?" he tries.

"And where exactly would that be ?" Steve asks. "You said... you didn't know where to go. But you can stay here."

Bucky stares, brows furrowed and cogs turning furiously in his brain, trying to figure out the mystery that Steve seems to represent to him.

"Why ?" he eventually inquires, now facing the blond man. "You said it yourself, you don't know me. So why would you..."

"You're right, I don't know you." Steve agrees, nodding as he takes a careful and hesitant step forward and closer to Bucky. "But I don't have to, to be a decent person. I can't let you roam the streets alone in the rain... Please, stay."

The young man stares at him again, even more confused than before, as if he wasn't used to be shown kindness like this - and let's be honest, he certainly isn't: Steve can't imagine anyone choosing to be nice to the Winter Soldier instead of running away from him in fright. After a few seconds, Bucky nods and slowly comes closer until he stops at some distance from Steve, apparently not quite sure how to act now.

"So... Anything special you want to do ?" Steve eventually asks, equally lost since he can't follow his usual guidelines as a SHIELD agent.

"Sleep." Bucky blurts out, his whole body thrumming with hope at the mere thought. "I mean, if it's okay. I haven't slept in a while... The last few days were stressful."

"Sure." Steve nods in understanding - it's a wonder Bucky can still stand on his feet, to say the truth. "You can take the bed... I'll change the sheets for you and then you can go to sleep."

Bucky stammers a weak protest, tries to tell him not to bother, but Steve won't have any of it so he does as he pleases and puts clean sheets on his mattress, smiling as he declines the help that Bucky shyly offers.

"There." the blond states with a last pat on the pillow. "Now I'll leave you alone... There is another comforter at the bottom of the wardrobe in you feel cold. And remember, if you need anything..."

"Yeah." Bucky says softly. "I'll call for you."

Steve smiles, trying not to show how much the other man's low and tiny voice, filled with gratitude, makes his stomach twist in sympathy. It must be... terrifying for Bucky to be forced to rely on someone he doesn't know, someone he has no reason to trust, a stranger. If the roles were reversed, Steve can't quite imagine his own reaction: would he choose to trust someone he doesn't know but who was kind enough to take him to a warm place, feed him and offer him their bed ? No. He wouldn't put any faith in them but he would... follow them. For survival, for food and shelter. Maybe that's what Bucky's doing too.

The blond swallows back a sigh and with a last tiny smile addressed to the young man sliding carefully under the blanket, he heads for the door but halts when Bucky's voice resounds hesitantly in the room.

"Thank you, Steve."

  


  


Whether Bucky actually naps or lies on his back with his blue eyes wide open, not comfortable enough to fall asleep in this unknown apartment, Steve doesn't know and he doesn't dare take a look inside his bedroom to make sure. Point is, Bucky doesn't come out for lunch, nor does he during the afternoon, so Steve occupies himself with work even though that exact morning, he had sworn he would steer clear off his laptop and his emails. In his defence, the day didn't quite go as planned.

As he checks the last news and reports from SHIELD, he realises that there's isn't much to rejoice at... More cold leads, mostly. Although there is, surprisingly, a potential progression. A last name, that could apparently refer to someone with connections inside Hydra, someone with an important (although unknown so far) role in the shady organisation. Zola. SHIELD isn't sure that it will prove useful yet but at least, this is a small victory: obtaining a name happens seldom enough.

Now that Steve takes the time to really think about it, they might actually have a lead. It's a long shot but honestly, what isn't whenever Hydra is involved ?

It takes him less than one minute to debate with himself whether to call Natasha or Sam, until he settles on the latter: Nat _always_ knows when he's lying and today... He can't take that risk. He will feel bad about leading Sam on later.

"Steve !" his friend's cheerful voice greets him once he calls him. "How are you doin' ? Enjoying your day off ?"

Ah. If only he knew.

"Kind of." Steve answers, fighting an the urge to roll his eyes. "Actually, I think I might be sick, I went for a run this morning, then it started raining... I was soaked."

The blond tries to tell himself that it isn't a lie, that it might even prove to be true, seeing how drenched he was that morning: it wouldn't surprise him if he woke up with a running nose the next morning. Well, if he wakes up, that is, what with having a dangerous (former) assassin in his bed.

"Sucks, man." Sam says in sympathy, before his voice turns teasing. "You want me to bring you some soup ? Blankets ? I can do anything, just don't ask me to put a suppository up your ass."

"Very funny, Sam." Steve groans. "Listen, I don't think I will make it to the office tomorrow, so..."

"Wait, is it that serious ?" Sam immediately enquires, concern kicking in. "Shit Steve, I'm sorry. Do you need anything ? Some medicine ?"

Thank you, Sam. How to make Steve Rogers' guiltiness go through the roof... His friends are too generous - well, admittedly, Steve doesn't give them many occasions to be distrustful. But still, he feels bad for lying to Sam like this even though he doesn't really have another choice: he will have to stay with Bucky for a little while but he can't tell Sam that he's too busy taking care of an amnesiac assassin to go to the office... 

"Thanks, Sam." he says softly. "I'll be fine, don't worry. It's just a matter of a few days, at most."

"Okay... Well, ask if you need anything, alright ?"

"Actually..." Steve bites his lower lip and hesitates for a few seconds before throwing caution to the wind. He has to try. Bucky deserves to know. "Could you do some research for me ?"

"Sure, what do you need ? Is it Hydra ?" Sam asks.

"Maybe. Listen, I'm not sure it will give us results but it's a possibility, so... I promise I'll explain to you and Nat later but could you see what you get for the name _James Barnes_ ? Whatever you can find, missing person reports, a fine in that name, anything that smells fishy or doesn't. Okay ?"

At the other end of the line, Sam stays silent for a few seconds, before he whines:

"Steeeve ! Do you know how many people are named _James Barnes_ ? Where did you even get that name ?"

"I'll explain later, Sam. I'd rather do it in person than on the phone."

"Right." Sam says, now sounding a bit worried. "Be careful, man. And take care of that cold ! I'll get back to you once I got what you asked for."

"Thank you, Sam."

"Don't mention it." his friend replies dismissively. "See you, Stevie."

"Bye..." Steve says softly, letting out a relieved sigh as he hangs up. He really, really hates lying to his friends, no matter the circumstances, but he can't reveal Bucky's existence yet. He knows he will eventually have to but not before he has found a way to protect the young man from SHIELD.

By the way, he should probably check on Bucky and wake him up, if he's still sleeping: it is already half past six in the evening and Steve would like to see his guest eat more than a few toasts for the whole day... Thus the blond makes his way to his bedroom, listening silently for a little while until he raises his fist to knock lightly on the door.

At least he thought he did, but the yelp he hears inside the room, closely followed by a heavy thud, tells him that Bucky doesn't exactly share his opinion. A little concerned, Steve carefully opens the door and immediately spots his guest, ass on the floor and looking both disorientated and kind of cute with his too big sweater pooling around his right wrist - it seems a little tight for his left arm.

"Did you just fall off the bed ?" Steve can't help but ask, taken aback at the sight of Bucky on the floor.

"No !" the other huffs grumpily before he quietly but quickly amends, "Maybe. You startled me."

"Sorry." Steve says, trying to hold back a bark of laughter. "I just wanted to wake you up so we could have dinner... I mean, if you're hungry ?"

The way Bucky's eyes shine a bit brighter should have been enough of an answer, but the young man even nods eagerly, although a bit shyly, which seems to be his default reaction to everything, as if he expected to be snapped at for speaking or expressing his thoughts. Is it because Bucky has no idea how Steve would react if they disagreed about something and thus chooses to be cautious ? Or should he read a bit more into this behaviour and think that Bucky actually used to be told off for that ? Or maybe Steve simply overanalyses everything, since he feels so out of his depth in this situation...

After all, he thinks as he goes back to the kitchen with Bucky following closely behind, SHIELD never trained him to take care of an assassin, let alone an amnesiac one. Maybe they should have, all things considered.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ! Please don't forget to leave a comment, it would really help and reassure me ^^


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! First of all, thank you for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks ! I'm really happy with the positive feedback so far, I hope you'll keep enjoying this story. Just so you know, I start my university exams in two weeks, so I might not have much time to write in the next few weeks; I'll still do my best to update regularly. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter ;)
> 
> Same warning as in the previous chapter: Bucky has a panic attack.

  


  


It is seven in the morning, or so. Everything is quiet in Steve's apartment, eerily silent save for the soft snoring of the blond man asleep on the couch with a blanket covering his legs. His position doesn't look much comfortable: there is no way sleeping half-sitting and half-lying on his back won't take its toll on the young man's body once he wakes up.

He isn't asleep since long though; Bucky was exhausted by the end of their dinner so he went to bed early, endlessly apologising for stealing Steve's bedroom and forcing him to sleep on the couch, but Steve himself waited for a little while. Although he was willing to believe, to trust Bucky, he couldn't help being somewhat wary, so he made sure that no sound could be heard from the bedroom anymore and, assuming that Bucky was asleep, he locked himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth and change in his old t-shirt for the night.

Before settling down to try and get some rest, Steve had checked that his trusted Beretta 92 was still under the pillows of the couch, so that he could grab it in the span of a second if anything happened - meaning, if Bucky did something regrettable.

Good point for the other man, _nothing happened_. Steve still tossed and turned for a while though, apprehensive at the prospect of letting his guard down for the night, until he finally fell asleep. It didn't last long, for restless dreams of blue-eyed assassins hiding in the shadows of every corner of the room woke him up with a start, one hour later only. He gave up on sleep then, knowing fully well that he would spend the whole night with the same tension in his shoulders, and decided to read instead... Before falling asleep again around four in the morning, inadvertently dropping his book to the floor as it slipped through his lax fingers.

And now, at half past seven, Steve wakes up again, nearly jumping out of his skin when a loud knock echoes against the front door. Frantic and not fully awake yet, the blond man shoves the cushions aside and grabs his gun, getting on his feet before he nearly hurls himself across the room and to the hall; he keeps his back pressed against the wall and his finger on the trigger, disengaging the thumb safety as he unlocks the door and carefully opens it.

Through the small opening, he spots a mess of red locks and dark skin, which makes him breathe out in relief and put the safety back on. Nat and Sam. Fuck, he thought... For a second, he imagined Hydra's agents waiting for him outside his flat - although they probably wouldn't have bothered knocking at all.

"Hey." he says, fully opening the door now, and attempts to hide his gun. "What are you doing here ?"

"Coffee delivery." Sam announces with a toothy grin, doing his best to lift the two paper cups in his hands despite the heavy looking bag that hangs from the crook of his elbow, and he gives a nod at Nat's own cup that she delicately holds from above, her fingertips placed around the rim to avoid the warmth of the beverage, burning even through the cup. "Thought we'd check on you before going to the office. You look like shit, Steve, no offense."

"None taken." the blond shrugs and gestures them to come inside, getting out of the way.

Sam's probably saying the truth anyway: even if Steve isn't sick like he told his friend, he hasn't slept much and a deep crease of worry must have appeared between his eyebrows.

"Who did you think was at your door ?" Natasha asks as she pointedly stares at the Beretta Steve clumsily tried to hide behind his back - he didn't consider slipping it into his boxer briefs as an option.

Shit. He should have known that she would notice - there is literally nothing that Nat doesn't catch on, which is most of the time useful but really annoying right now. And what Nat notices often has Sam worrying.

"Steve ?" he prompts, raising a brow.

"Nothing." the blond hurries to reply. "Bad dream."

"Bad dream that made you sleep on your couch or bad dream you had while sleeping on your couch ?" Natasha asks loudly from the living-room, and Steve can totally imagine her cool and level gaze that doesn't command him to speak but will get him to spill the beans anyway.

He also remembers that he has a very special guest home, one that he doesn't want either Sam or Natasha to know of and...

"Can you not talk so loudly ?" he winces as he joins her in the living-room and takes his cup of coffee from Sam's hand with a thankful smile, before he sets his gun on the table in front of the couch.

"Does your head hurt ?" the man immediately asks, on a lower tone than Natasha did - and Steve wants to hug him and apologise for pretending to be sick and lying to him, because Sam probably is the sweetest person ever and he doesn't deserve this. "Sorry for coming so early but we wanted to make sure you were okay, what with your phone call from yesterday and the little research you asked me to do - I got some results, by the way. So: are you alright ?"

"Yeah." Steve says softly. "I'm good, don't worry."

A second goes by in the utmost silence, although not uncomfortable, as the redhead and Sam settle on the couch while Steve collapses onto the ottoman; they quietly sip on their coffee until Nat drops like a bomb:

"So, who's sleeping in your bed ?"

Steve splutters and chokes on his coffee at that, his hot drink nearly spilling everywhere as he coughs again and again, gently hitting his chest with his own fist.

"What ?" he croaks, as the same time as Sam exclaims "Did you get laid last night ?! Steve, you said you were coming down with something, not going down on someone !"

"I didn't sleep with anyone !" he hisses before burying his head in his hands, rubbing his palms against his eyes as he reminds himself to keep quiet and takes a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Is this the moment when he's supposed to tell them about Bucky ? Hell no, he has decided just the previous day to wait until he could be sure that the young man would stay safe... He trusts his friends, of course, but he also knows that they will freak out if they hear about the Winter Soldier, who's currently asleep in his bed. Speaking of which...

"How do you know there's someone in my bed ?" Steve asks slowly, suspiciously eyeing Natasha, and he adds quickly when he sees the smirk on her face, "Hypothetically speaking, of course. You know, _if_ there was anyone... How would you even know ?"

"Steve..." she starts - and Sam is smiling now because he clearly hears her condescending tone as she addresses their friend and he loves it when she makes fun of Steve - and she ignores the pillow the blond man throws at Sam. "Two plates in your sink, two glasses on your kitchen table and two cups ready next to your coffee maker... And you didn't expect us here, so don't even try to use that as an excuse."

Steve glares at her but feels himself deflate: no need to even try to deny it, now that Natasha has made it clear that he has someone home with him. Should he say the truth or just go a little deeper in the lie ? His brain chooses the truth but his heart... His heart chooses to lie: he cannot betray Bucky like this, not when he promised him that he would be safe in his apartment.

"Who is he ?" Sam asks expectantly, practically vibrating with excitation at the mere thought that Steve got laid the previous night. Now, the blond male knows that his friend isn't trying to pry into his private life: if Steve showed as much as a hint of unease at discussing the subject, Sam would immediately drop it and find something else to talk about. The other man is only happy for his friend, who doesn't get many opportunities to go out in the evening (undercover missions do _not_ count) and Steve feels even worse for lying to him when Sam doesn't point it out, either because he doesn't consider it important now that he has Steve's last night to focus on or because he has already forgiven his friend and doesn't feel the need to go over this once again.

"Not anyone you know." Steve answers lightly, doing his best to keep his voice steady despite the horrible lie, even as he feels Natasha's piercing eyes scan his expressions for any little twitch of an eyelid that could give him away. "And he left already. Wasn't into the whole breakfast-in-bed thing."

That's... plausible, right ? He's scrambled for the first explanation he could find, hopefully Natasha will swallow it. Sure, she seems less suspicious now but Steve is certain that she'll come back to it sooner or later: she will want to know who exactly her friend screwed last night - and contrarily to Sam, it's not only to share his happiness, oh no: she will run a background check and make sure that Steve's potential boyfriend or friend with benefits or whatever isn't a dangerous psychopath. The blond man would be grateful for so much concern, if Nat had not already scared away one of his ex-boyfriends with that technique. Not that there is any boyfriend involved right now, but still.

"One-night stand ?" Natasha asks, a little surprised but also, _impressed_.

"Yes, Nat." Steve answers, rolling his eyes, and he represses the urge to scoff at her because hey, he might be a romantic at heart and a hella shy guy when he's out of his circle of close friends or not in business mode but still, he's perfectly able to find someone to spend the night with, if he feels like it - and he does not need Natasha's disputable skills at matchmaking to make it happen.

"So, Sam." Steve addresses his friend, eager to drop the topic. "You said you had results for me ?"

"Yeah." his friend nods as he puts his coffee on the small table in front of him and bends a little to retrieve the bag he has previously placed on the floor. "I got some stuff, I'm not so sure what is important or not since you didn't say what you were looking for but... One of these files is some super classified shit, I'm sure you'll love it. But hey, who's James Barnes ?"

Ah. That is the question. Literally, because Steve doesn't have the slightest idea regarding the man's identity - and neither does Bucky.

"And how did you even find that name ?" Natasha adds as she crosses her legs impatiently.

"Well..." Steve starts then stops, because he has no idea of what he could possibly say that wouldn't involve Bucky. "It's... It's a long story. Actually, I..."

He doesn't know what kind of horrendous lie he was about to tell them. Probably one he was going to beat himself up about, again and again, one that would make him feel guiltier than ever. Maybe. He'll never know.

No, Steve will never know because right at this moment, a scream echoes through his whole apartment. It is loud, shrill, and Steve feels his blood freeze in his veins while _Natasha_ nearly drops her cup of coffee. The scream lasts long too, only to die abruptly, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Fear - worse, terror - filled that voice, pierced right through Steve's heart, and the young man only breaks free from the shock that has hit him when his panicked brain shouts inside his mind _Bucky !_

Steve snatches his gun on the table at the same time as he jumps on his feet and runs to his bedroom, blind and oblivious to anything beyond Bucky - Bucky who screamed, Bucky who's scared, terrified; Bucky who might be in pain, Bucky whom he promised to keep safe, Bucky...

The blond man doesn't even notice Sam and Natasha hurrying after him, their own guns in hand, and Steve all but breaks down the door, storming inside the room and pointing his Beretta at the potential threat he might face.

There is none. But Steve freezes all the same when his eyes land on Bucky, small shadow near the bed and its crumpled sheets, all curled up on himself as quiet and pained whines escape his throat in small gasps. He doesn't even look up when Steve and his friends enter the room but he starts shuddering in full-body quivers, and the blond male slowly hands his gun to Natasha, who raises a brow in a silent question but accepts it nonetheless. Just as wordlessly, Steve shakes his head, promises to explain later - not that she would let him off the hook anyway - and takes a hesitant first step towards the man.

"Bucky ?" he calls, voice soft but clear.

He has learned from the panic attack the previous day: he now knows that he can't touch the young man, for fear of a reaction Bucky couldn't quite control; Steve can only rely on the trust Bucky seems to have placed in him.

"Bucky, can you hear me ?" the blond asks again as he takes a few more steps forward and kneels in front of the other man.

Bucky snaps out of the trance he was in and looks up all of a sudden, wide eyes filled with unshed tears locking with Steve's worried orbs and then, without warning, the young man collapses in his arms, buries his face into his worn t-shirt and starts crying, ugly sobs that speak of both fear and relief as flesh and bones fingers dig deeper into the blond man's side. It hurts a little but Steve says nothing, lets Bucky anchor and buoy himself through this human touch that he seems to need and welcome, this time around.

Steve's hesitation is palpable as he slowly lifts his hand to rest it on Bucky's head; the feather-like touches of his fingertips on the dark and long hair only make the other man press himself further against Steve but he doesn't bolt away, doesn't express any other fear than the one that led him right in his embrace, thus Steve gingerly strokes Bucky's long hair and whispers:

"I'm here. You're safe, Bucky, remember ? Can you say that for me ?"

A small shake of the head is his only answer. Steve doesn't insist, only keeps caressing the soft unruly hair and asks slowly:

"Do you remember me ? Do you know where you are ?"

"Ste..." Bucky chokes on the word. "Steve. Brooklyn."

The blond nods, allows Bucky to cry against him and soak his t-shirt until his sobs grow apart and cease completely, replaced by quiet sniffles and tiny gasps. Steve takes his chance and asks carefully, trying not to upset the man any further:

"Do you think you can tell me what happened ?"

Maybe it was the feeling of waking up in an unknown place. Of being disoriented. Or... The flash of a memory ? Steve knows that amnesiac people can get flashbacks, sometimes scary because they don't remember it belonging to them, being a part of them and their past, and sometimes frightening because it's how they _are_. Flashbacks of a time spent with Hydra must not be pleasant, to say the least. Or maybe Bucky woke up and... saw his arm. The left one. And he didn't understand. Freaked out. Broke down.

"N... nightmares..." Bucky whispers against his t-shirt, and Steve can feel his lips mumbling the words into the fabric, just above the ribs on his right side.

"Do you want to talk about it ?"

"No." the other says quickly, too quickly, and Steve briefly wonders whether the care and concern coming from him are too much, so much more that can be handled by Bucky right now - or by the Winter Soldier hiding in him, somewhere deep inside.

"Okay." Steve says reassuringly, or so he hopes. "I won't force you to tell me anything, not if you don't want to. Do you think you can stand up ? Maybe you should drink or eat something."

Bucky nods weakly but he doesn't move an inch, so the blond helps him on his feet and tries to hide a frown as he gently wraps an arm around the man's waist and notices that the fabric is drenched in cold sweat.

"Let's get you out of this sweater." he says, voice still soft. "Or else, you'll get sick."

The other nods again but Steve doesn't stir any other reaction from him; it's like... It's like Bucky can't even understand him but just keeps agreeing to whatever is suggested so that Steve will let him be, will stop bothering him. But Bucky is so distant, his mind literally miles away from the current situation... Steve doesn't like it one bit: it feels too much like Bucky is fine with everything that could be done to him, as if he doesn't mind, yet the blond male can feel the tension in Bucky's shoulders as his hands start, oh so carefully, taking off the woollen sweater.

As it belongs to Steve, it is slightly too big for Bucky so the blond can easily pull the boy out of the garment, only struggling a little with the left sleeve - and Bucky makes sure to turn his head to the other side, grinding his teeth as the wool catches on the metal plates of the bionic arm.

Twin gasps echoes behind them when Steve finally takes off the sweater, revealing red paint on gleaming metal, and his head quickly whips around like he's been slapped as he suddenly remembers that he didn't enter this room alone. Shit. Sam and Natasha are still there. Silent and shocked but aware enough of the situation to tighten their grip around their guns, never adverting their eyes from the Winter Soldier. Because this is who they see, not Bucky. When he notices Natasha's expression closing off and her gaze hardening as she eyes him warily, Steve slowly lets go of Bucky and whispers in his ear:

"I'll let you get dressed. There are more sweaters in the wardrobe, if you'd like. Just... Take your time and join us whenever you feel ready, okay ?"

Another nod, this time a little more alive. Small progress, but progress all the same. Steve will take it.

He turns around then and extends both hands in front of him, palms open, eager to show Natasha that he isn't armed and doesn't plan on doing anything to her, or Sam. The latter seems confused but Nat looks downright betrayed, which he understands. After all, she just watched him hug an assassin; he knows what she must be thinking right now: they never caught the Winter Soldier because Steve helped hiding him, Steve is Hydra, Steve betrayed SHIELD, betrayed her...

"Can we take this to the living-room, please ?" he asks.

She nods curtly and steps aside to let him walk out of the room, then she closes the door behind them and lifts the hand that holds Steve's gun. For a short second, the blond foolishly thinks that the redhead will hand it back to him but all he obtains is a gun aimed at his face and a sharp command:

"Explain yourself. You have one minute."

"Natasha..." Sam warns.

"Fifty-five seconds, Captain Rogers." she says, which, ouch. She never uses his full title.

"Listen, it's not what it looks like." Steve starts calmly, even though it's probably not the right way to begin this discussion - usually, this sentence is used when it is _exactly_ what it looks like.

"Oh yeah ? Then are you going to explain what the Winter Soldier is doing in your bedroom ?"

"Well, he isn't. The Winter Soldier, I mean. He's not, he's just Bucky. That's... That's what I wanted to tell you, before."

"Steve, buddy, now would be a good time to quit babbling." Sam chimes in, eyes stern but not unkind - he just wants to understand, he's not judging nor condemning... yet.

"Right. I... I found him yesterday morning, in an alley. I... recognised him, the eyes... I could never forget those eyes, not after he nearly killed me, remember ?"

Natasha lowers Steve's gun a little at that but the blond doesn't dare taking it for granted, not with the terrific Russian agent, so he keeps on:

"My first reaction was to arrest him. But then he... he was scared of me. He thought I was a cop, that I was there because he had stolen some clothes. He doesn't remember, Nat. He... He's not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. He just remembered his name, James Barnes. Said he thinks people used to call him Bucky."

"Why didn't you turn him in ?" Sam asks, and Steve is glad to turn his gaze away from the Beretta, now pointed down at his most delicate parts, to answer him.

"I wanted to, at first. I would have, if he'd remembered something, but... He knows nothing, Sam. If he'd been aware of being the Winter Soldier, then yes, but I'm not going to turn in an innocent man who probably never heard of Hydra."

" _Probably_ ? Did you question him to make sure ?" Natasha enquires.

"No. I didn't need to. Nat, he was fucking scared ! He had bleeding feet and hadn't eaten in days, do you think that the Winter Soldier would be unable to sustain himself and take care of an injury ? He didn't... attack me, he didn't kill me. He could have, just right back in the bedroom, he had his hands near my neck ! Or, or during the night ! But he _didn't_."

"Why the gun, then ?" Sam asks, still calm and perhaps even a little more relaxed than a few seconds ago.

"Precaution." he mumbles.

Natasha's once again raised brows are starting to hit on his nerves.

"So you don't trust him ?"

"Can you quit it with the questioning ?" he snaps back, frustrated. "It was just in case, okay ? But Bucky didn't do a thing, I guess he slept like a baby until the nightmares started and became bad enough to wake him up. Screaming and _shaking_ , Nat, what an impressive assassin, right ?"

She sighs at that but finally surrenders, lowering the gun before she turns it around and reaches out to give it back to Steve, hand grip first.

"Sorry." she grumbles as an apology, that the blond accepts with a simple nod of his head.

He understands her reaction. He certainly wouldn't have done the same, as he probably wouldn't have aimed a freaking gun at the face of a friend, but doubts... Yeah, maybe.

"Just one more thing." Natasha says, suddenly grabbing his forearm. "If he does as much as bat an eyelid the wrong way... I take him down, understood ?"

"Understood." he confirms, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "Not that it will be necessary, though."

"Ah, let's hope not." Sam says with forced enthusiasm as he sits on the couch to try and get his friends to do the same. "But Steve, I gotta ask... Why did you do it ?"

Steve doesn't exactly know what Sam is referring to: taking Bucky home ? Believing him ? Both ?

"I'm not sure. I think I wanted to trust him."

That's not quite right, to be honest - and in the last twenty hours, he has lied to his friends more than he probably did in a year. But just like he kept to himself the fact that the Winter Soldier has blue eyes, Steve doesn't tell that those eyes, back then, were cold and calculating, filled with the knowledge of where to hit in order to inflict crippling pain. He doesn't explain that back in the dark alley, they were full of barely concealed fears, subdued warmth and dim light making them shine softly in the shadows.

Steve slowly shakes his head to clear his thoughts, pushing the memory to the back of his mind. They have more pressing matters at hand.

"Maybe we can find intel on Hydra through him." he states, before he adds, "And by that, I don't mean using him, just so we're clear. But we have a lead with the name of James Barnes, so we'd better follow it."

Silence settles over them while Sam and Natasha share a quick glance, then the man speaks up, patting the bag at his side:

"Steve, about that... I got several files in there, 'cause there are literally tons of James Barnes in the States, but now I'm sure of which one we have to look into. And... It's the file I said you would love. Now I'm not so sure about that anymore."

"What do you mean ?" the blond whispers and suddenly realises that he's holding his breath.

Sam heaves a deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes close as if to ground himself, before he starts hesitantly:

"It's about a soldier. James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant in the US army." Sam starts hesitantly. "And there's... Listen, there's a picture in there, and it's him. Bucky. It hit me back in your room that it was the same person. But..."

Sam grows quiet and stares at something behind Steve, who catches sight of Natasha imperceptibly stiffening in front of him, across the living-room. He already knows what - _who_ \- he's about to see as he turns around. Steve simply hopes that he hasn't heard too much of their conversation.

"Hey, Bucky." the blond says encouragingly as he spots the man, half-hiding in the doorway and now dressed with a black and white hoodie that Steve doesn't like much himself and only wears during the cold winter's evenings, while watching a movie and cuddling the pillows of his couch. "How do you feel ?"

"Tired." the young man answers in a rough voice. "Friends ?"

Steve doesn't really understand what he's asking. He is making sure that Sam and Nat are Steve's friends ? Or that they won't be a threat to him ?

"Yeah." he eventually says. "Both friends and colleagues, Sam and Natasha."

"Hi, buddy." Sam greets him good-naturedly, as if this was a regular encounter and not the meeting of an ex-assassin - Steve could seriously kiss him, hard.

Natasha only acknowledges Bucky with a nod but the young man doesn't seem too much fazed by that and awkwardly stands next to Steve, a little behind him actually, as if seeking the blond male's protection.

"What about hi... me ?" he asks in a whisper, struggling with the pronouns. "James Barnes. What happened ?"

Steve has to keep himself from reaching out to Bucky as he hears the hitch in his breathing, the light hesitation at the name, at the association with himself. He can't help but wonder what it must feel like for Bucky to hear about James, to know that he _is_ James, while he doesn't have the tiniest memory of ever being him. Well, his pale face and sunken eyes are probably more than enough to answer his question.

"I don't think this is something we should discuss in front of him." Natasha says coldly, not even glancing at the young man.

"Bucky is right here." Steve growls defensively - he didn't mean to but he couldn't hold back, not when he saw Bucky flinch.

While he does understand that his friend doesn't trust strangers easily, especially not when said stranger is an amnesiac assassin, he can't stand her ignoring Bucky when he seems so fragile already. He feels like the slightest hint of aggressiveness toward him could break him, as he doesn't seem to be the kind of people who likes to argue... He never did anything to Natasha, he doesn't even _know_ her, so being faced with such hostility right away must only confuse and even hurt him.

"Okay, okay." Sam quickly interferes, feeling the tension increase as Natasha glares at their blond friend. "Everybody calms down. Let's be civil, Nat, Steve... Hey, Bucky, you mind sitting with us ?"

Bucky's hesitation is visible as he glances at the redhead but then he nods, stepping forward until he carefully settles down next to Steve. Sam and Nat have claimed the couch while Steve sat onto the soft ottoman, which is by no means designed to support two people and even less so when they are both tall and built like Steve and Bucky are. Yet the tired male chose to stick close to him, even when he could have grabbed a chair from the kitchen to sit alone and keep his distance from everyone else. Steve should not feel flattered by this blind trust Bucky seems to think he's worth but... Yeah. He does.

"Bucky," Steve starts before anyone can stop him, "do you want to hear what Sam has to say ? It... It might not be pleasant."

"I want to." the other says, exhaustion lacing his voice but decided clarity visible in his eyes, so different from earlier. "Please." he adds, bravely glancing at Natasha, who scowls but doesn't reply.

"Okay." Steve agrees. "You have the right to know."

He does. He would have every right to sit them down and demand that they share all the information they own, because it is _his_ story. No one could deny him.

Both men's heads then turn to Sam and Natasha at the same time; under any other circumstances, it would have been damn funny to see them move like one man, with the same focused eyes and pressed lips.

"Fine." Sam nods. "Well. The file says... Uh, the soldier..."

Sam stops, hesitates, looks at Bucky and worries his lower lip with his teeth. Steve feels his stomach twist in apprehension at the sight of his friend's obvious discomfort: there are not many things that could disturb him that much so whatever is in that file, the blond knows he won't like it. Neither will Bucky.

Eventually, it's Natasha who breaks the heavy silence, looking up at Bucky all of a sudden and meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Army reports state that Sergeant James Barnes died back in 2005. In short, you're a ghost story."

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter ! Thank you for reading and I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new year already, as I'm not sure I'll be able to post anything else before that. If you want, feel free to join me on [tumblr](http://like-a-bucky.tumblr.com/) !


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